


To Finally Know You'll Never Love Me (If I’m Honest That's What Breaks My Heart)

by trashiam



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M, I can't believe this happened, i'm just as confused as you are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 15:39:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14264226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashiam/pseuds/trashiam
Summary: It’s horrifying, confronting and astounding how dependent on her he had become. That he had become just another cliché, not realising what he had until he lost it. Stupid, stupid, stupid.





	To Finally Know You'll Never Love Me (If I’m Honest That's What Breaks My Heart)

**Author's Note:**

> Um… hi? So, never in my life, did I think I would write an RPF. Ever. But here I am. I’m still on the fence about how I feel about all this. Shame? Perhaps. Regret? Maybe. Confused? Definitely. I’m very much aware that the subjects in this are VERY real and are leading lives that I have NO insight in, or have any sort of entitlements to. But, alas, that knowledge alone did not stop me from doing this, and I don’t know if I should be impressed or concerned.
> 
> Well, anyway, here you are. I hope it’s somewhat tolerable, I haven’t written anything in years…? I don’t know. Anyway, for the sake of my sanity, I’m just going to go…

Instantaneous. It had always been. The moment either one of them walked into a room, their eyes would find one another, a tentative and wordless courtship before facades were dropped and all that’s left was an accelerated embrace. After years of hard work, their partnership culminated to a point where they were keenly aware of each other’s presence, some perplexing sort of intuition, a sense of proprioception perhaps. Even during fierce disagreements, silent fuming, and bitter sadness, their eyes found their way to one another.

It’s not surprising then, that when she doesn’t see him, he is thrown aback, the air pummelled out of his lungs. It troubles him to see how far they’ve fallen, it pains him to see another set of arms wrapped around her waist, and it breaks him to see the tenderness in her eyes, as she looks at her companion.

***

_He wished she’d slam the door, for her violent and blinding rage to consume the air around him and fuel his own. Instead, she shuts the door with cool discipline and that makes it so much worse. He knows, of course he does. The line has been crossed, the end is nigh._

_What comes next is all at once expected and unexpected. Radio silence, formal proceedings, cutting tones, and restrained words follow. Then, suddenly, a conclusion. Inseparable for as long as he can remember, he’s struck by the harsh reality of what his days are like without her. Days, weeks and months sluggishly pass by and she becomes his phantom limb. The anxiety torturous, the pain unbearable._

_It’s horrifying, confronting and astounding how dependent on her he had become. That he had become just another cliché, not realising what he had until he lost it. Stupid, stupid, stupid._

_By the time he finally gathers the courage to seek her, it was too late. The gaping hole had become too wide, too deep, too much. On a late Friday night, her empty apartment with its sterilized white walls and impeccably organised furniture reverberated a deafening silence._

***

He wants to leave, to rush out the door and never look back. Instead, he stays rooted, his eyes firmly fixed on her and he takes her in. He’d never admit it to anyone, but he had continued to keep track of her; he’s read articles of her endeavours, bookmarked her interviews and visited her social media accounts. It wasn’t healthy by any means, it only served to remind him of what he had lost, but he’ll be damned if he ever let himself stop supporting her. And as he stared at her, he becomes acutely aware of how she’s everything he remembers, _but also more_. She still looked devastatingly beautiful, and so _happy_. A part of him is angry with her for it. The petty and petulant side of him would simply love to march over, demand that she should at least have the courtesy to look somewhat miserable and declare that it was selfish of her to be fine. It’s stupid, he knows, to harbour this anger towards her, to resent her for doing something he himself should have but couldn’t. She’s not responsible for this regret he feels, he knows that, but he’s long come to terms with that fact that he’s not logical and rational. He’s anything but.

And he can’t stop himself from criticising her companion. Too tall, too formal, hair too short, too much gel, smiles with too much gum, voice too loud, he’s _too_ close. _Too bloody close,_ he thinks to himself, _didn’t this turd-waffle realise the social etiquette of personal space?_

***

_He doesn’t notice it at first but he starts to put out fresh flowers in the living room like she did. He likes how it brightens the room, just like she did. Not to the same degree, but then again, nothing else can replicate her intense radiance. He even starts blasting Hall and Oates – voluntarily – and he doesn’t need to try too hard to see her dancing, weaving and twirling around his space. It’s only when he tries to reach for her, to take her hand like he’s done for decades, does she swiftly fade, and reality settles in once more and he struggles to shake off the heavy ache in his chest._

_He realises that he gets to the point of pathetic when he buys her favourite brand of strawberry scented shampoo, just so he can still hold onto her smell. Pathetic or not, it doesn’t stop him from purchasing another bottle when the first runs out. He’s received several curious looks from his family but no one mentions anything, which he prefers because how do you even begin to explain that Pandora box?_

_“Oh hey, I just miss her so much that I’m using the same brand of shampoo so I can smell like her because I’m a creep who can’t get it together.” An enlightening conversation he was sure, but if he can help it, he’d like to remain ignorant._

***

It’s not until she's about to leave, does her eyes meet his, perhaps by chance, but he hopes it’s more than that. He’s not exactly sure about whatever it is that washes over her eyes when she registers that it’s him – and he’s pained to admit that – but he holds his breath, and wonders what she’ll do next. He sees her lean slightly towards her companion to say something, a nod of head before the turd waffle is out the door. He’s reluctant to admit it, but he does feel time slow down as she approached him, just like those cliché Hollywood movies and just like the foolish protagonists, he feels his heart skip.

“Hi.” she says as she reaches him, a small smile playing on her lips. And just like that, he feels like he’s drowning. After months without her, to have her standing within an arm’s reach, he is overcome by a crushing sense of relief that consumes him.

“H-hi,” he manages to breathe out. “How are you?” He cringes. He feels physically sick at the chasm between them, so large that they’re now resorting to small talk. He’s probably imagining things, but he thinks she feels the same, with the way her smile falters slightly.  

“Good, good. You?”

There are a lot of things he wants to say, but considering everything, he settles for an “I’m great.” He’s honestly not sure what happens as they stiffly manoeuvre through their pleasantries but before he knows it, she’s turning to leave him. Again. Turns out he is drowning after all, muffled voices and murky vision enveloping him, restraining, choking.

He wants to reach out, to call for her, to hold on for dear life. But as quick and abrupt her return was, her exit was the same, if not more jarring. He can’t help but watch her walk away, and anguish over the fact that not once did she turn to look back. _She shouldn’t have said hello_ , he muses to himself sourly, _damn it_. Whatever kind gesture it may have seemed only served to send him reeling and he’s struggling to find his footing again.

As he stands there, he’s left to the realisation that she’s fine, she’s good, she’s okay with leaving him behind. And that’s a bitter truth to swallow.

**Author's Note:**

> This program was brought to you by “What Breaks My Heart” by Parachute (if you’re interested in some hurting, I would wholeheartedly recommend them), and partly by @rainy-sunshine’s divorce headcanons on tumblr. I am a silent observer (and fan) of @rainy-sunshine’s sadistic and cruel plot twists (and I mean this in the best way possible). If I ruined the headcanons, I'm sorry, I don't know. Okay, I’ll be off to try and work through this confusing time in my life now.


End file.
